


Salvation

by gogollescent



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen, everything is better with lawyers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-20
Updated: 2012-05-20
Packaged: 2017-11-05 17:34:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gogollescent/pseuds/gogollescent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Goes AU from "Spiral" (5x20). What if, instead of going TV show catatonic, Buffy had sought outside help in retrieving Dawn?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salvation

There was a girl waiting in her office when she got out of her 8:00, and Lilah thought for a moment that it was one of Angel’s pet moral compasses. She had the trembly self-righteousness act down cold: it came off her in damp waves. It was probably going to cost Lilah a fortune in dry cleaning, in fact. The vice president of Special Projects had no use for a chair which exuded virtuous fumes when you sat down hard. 

But she also stank of desperation, from her darkening roots to her bloody bootheels; and it was company policy to give due welcome to despair. 

“I don’t believe we have an appointment,” Lilah said, smiling.

“Yeah,” said the girl. “I mean, no, we don’t.” She held Lilah’s letter opener— silver, pure— between two fingers, and the tip blurred a little from the controlled motions of her half-open hand. 

“Let me,” Lilah murmured. She leaned across the desk with the vague intention of taking the knife off the antsy kid, and maybe throwing in a gentle handclasp, while she was there. A moment of calm eye contact.

She ended  _up_  flat on her back, breathing hard, pure silver edge held to her naked throat and the girl’s knee pressing into her stomach.

“I’m Buffy,” said the girl. “You know. The Vampire Slayer?”

“Okay,” said Lilah, hoping that her voice broadcast understanding and compassion and— and this was important— _humanity_. She made a note to check on whether Faith had died in prison; someone in Records would know.

Assuming she didn’t end up a stain on her own newly acquired carpet, that was. But Lilah was an optimist. 

“How can Wolfram & Hart help the Slayer?” she said: speaking with care, in case her head fell off.

“That pretty much depends on you,” said— Buffy. Which, god— at least ‘Faith’ was a name you could take seriously, even if the irony bordered on cartoonish.

Lilah tried to focus. She was aware, in the back of her mind, that the last time she’d been in this position, there had been a cadaver on top of her. 

It really didn’t help that Buffy kind of looked like Darla, minus four hundred years and every visible trace of panache.

“Then how can I help you?” she asked.

Buffy put the letter opener down. “I need—” she began, and then she rolled off of Lilah, flowing from the ground up to her feet, the shadow of her legs grown long. She went to the window. She rested her hand against the glass. 

Maybe not every visible trace.

“I have a sister,” she said, looking tired. 

Lilah sat up, gingerly, and tested the side of her neck. The skin was unbroken, except for the scars already made. She could still feel the weight of Holland Manners’ body crushed against her breasts, but there was nothing on top of her, and she could move again. 

“How did you find us?” she said. 

“Does it matter?” said Buffy. In the glass her reflection lay pale and fine over the city. Lilah was reminded, again, of Darla; Darla as she had been.


End file.
